Touching a Soul
by JasperK
Summary: A Gift fic for Eden Evergreen! Vash puzzles his way through an unexpected predicament one night.


**Spoilers**, oh yes, but not quite what you expected!

If you have not yet read any of Eden Evergreen's stuff, well this is a huge plot spoiler, sorry!

Spoilers start from here onwards (you have been warned.)

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><p><em>AN: More fan-fic of fan-fic (: A little tale written for Eden Evergreen. This snippet is expanded from the tale "Daughters of a Desert World" chapter 11. Shyla is her OC, a young girl plant, and Naomi was her adoptive human mother. For more Shyla tales, see 'Vash's Quiet Life' and the following cycle of tales over on Eden Evergreen's account._

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><p>.<p>

**Shyla and the Scars**

_or_

_**Touching a Soul**_

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><p>Rem. He was dreaming of Rem. He smiled in his half-awake state, where he dreamed yet knew it was dream. Knives must have added extra blankets in the night, as he was rather warm. Rem had her arm around him. He did not remember why she was cuddling him. Had he had another bad dream? He tried not to think about what bad dream he might have had, but that only drew the memories up faster. Suspended in the half-awake state, yet unable to awaken fully, he scrabbled through dark memories and fear, before his eyes slammed open. He lay with his eyes wide, panting at the cold air of the ship. He clenched his fist in the blanket to reassure himself that none of those memories were occurring right now. No, his sweat soaked sheets were ship manufacture and the air smelled processed. But his hand was a prosthetic. He stared at it for a second, disorientated, then the twin recollections of his whole personal history and the fact that he was at the Seeds Village returned. He breathed out as the shock and panic receded. He was Vash the Stampede, almost two centuries old and not the frightened child who had sought Rem's comfort.<p>

He then became aware of what the warmth was that he was feeling, and felt a second rush of shock. Someone was lying against his back with their arm around him. It took him a panicked split second to calculate exactly how to break the wrist that was touching his chest, how to dive for his revolver, which he had foolishly left on the far side of the room, and how to twist so that his arm gun would be free. Then what he had been sensing all along flowed over him like a cool breeze. Shyla's contented pleasure at his presence. He lay still, but inwardly he shuddered in revulsion. He had been so close to hurting her. He had to draw breath rapidly through his mouth to ward off the instinct to throw up at how ill he felt.

He gingerly wiped the sweat off his forehead with the corner of the sheet. He did not know what to do. What had she been thinking sneaking up on him like that? He felt furious at her incaution. Did she not know how badly he could have harmed her? He gasped as a shudder ran through his body. No, she would not know. He had taken care not to share his guilt at having harmed people while trying to rescue others. She could take the incidents as fact with some qualifying emotions, but he had wanted to spare her the worst of his shame. He twisted his fingers in the sheets and stared blankly into mid distance, worrying. Perhaps he should have shared that with her. Then she might have known to take more care instead of falling asleep beside him while hugging him.

She made a soft noise, almost a sigh of contentment. Vash blinked as that tiny and very endearing noise sent a shudder of a different kind through him. She was _hugging_ him. He opened his eyes wide and stared at the wall opposite, taking in every detail of the cracks and the shadows in the dawn light. He was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Her arm was surprisingly comforting around him like that. She was so warm and soft against his back, and she felt so good. He could get used to waking up with her hugging him like that. In fact, right now, he would like to be even closer to her... he stopped himself short with a gasp.

No, he could _not_ be thinking of that sort of thing now. Where did that idea come from, anyway? It was despicable. She was hardly more than a child. Actually, since she was a plant, developmentally she was still very much a child. Perhaps that was why she was snuggled up in the bed with him. He cringed, sinking into a grey stupor of despair. What was wrong with him? How could he think of that sort of thing now? He dared not move, any movement now would just aggravate the situation. He had _never_ felt so flustered in his life. He panicked suddenly, sincerely regretting that she was a plant, because if he did not get his emotions under control she would want to know why. He gulped in a breath and forced his emotions down into the cool quiet place he went to when he needed to concentrate despite dire distractions. He felt the tension ease slightly, but not his bewilderment.

Hadn't either Naomi or Luida had that discussion with her? Perhaps not, Luida would have assumed that Shyla's age in years corresponded to humans and that she would know. He and Knives had known the mechanics, and had privately giggled over it in awed disgust after Rem had explained it. He smiled as he recalled that it had been the idea of actually kissing a girl that had caused the most revulsion. They had not really understood the enchantment of the rest. Over the years, such intimacy with another person had increased in its appeal, although the sheer awkwardness of such closeness had always prevented it from happening. Yet, somehow, much of that awkwardness was missing between himself and Shyla.

Oh man! _Why_ was he thinking of _that_ with her so close. He swiftly shoved those thoughts and memories away. Well, he would have to ask Luida to speak to Shyla. He knew he could not speak of it, not without opening the can of worms he was now very desperately avoiding. He did not want to sound like he was either rejecting or trying to seduce her. She was a plant; she would see and feel it if he still felt intrigued by the possibility of exploring such things with her. He gulped another breath of air. What was he to do now?

A hurt little thought trundled in just then. Perhaps Shyla was innocent, or perhaps it was more worrying than that. Her ignorance bothered him deeply. How had her lessons been while he had been away? Was she able to learn? They had always spoken mind to mind and used emotion while discussing a topic while she was growing up. Perhaps she struggled while lacking that? Or perhaps she was slow, he honestly did not know how humans learned things. He knew he had a quick mind for things, and knew that Shyla took her time with things, but had always assumed that that was because she was more thorough than he was when interested in a topic. Not only was she innocently hugging him, but also seemed entirely ignorant of the inappropriate nature of such a gesture. Were her relationships so immature and tentative? He pondered how she had welcomed the company of Luida's daughters. They were her friends; she had enough maturity for that. His head hurt with thinking, he honestly did not know how to help her. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to do something to protect her, most of all from himself and the danger he and his reputation represented in her life.

She moved her fingers. That was all it was. She stroked the skin she could feel beneath his pyjamas. He stared down at her fingers negligently caught in the gaps between the buttons of his shirt. The touch of her fingers against his chest was like the stroke of the first morning sun against his face. Light, warm and comforting. It sent warmth rippling over his body. He could not contain the hiss of a gasp that escaped his lips.

"Mmh?" She said, her breath touching the back of his neck.

He found it very hard to seek out his still place within him. There was no question of letting it go, she could _not _know of his bewildered thoughts, not now.

"You're touching my scars." He said quietly, knowing that was the swiftest method to get people to leave his body alone.

She gave a start and snatched her hand back as if the scars had burned her. Vash closed his eyes as agony poured into his chest. It had worked. Too well. He had not known how much it would hurt to have _her_ reject him. But he could feel the pain in his chest even through the quieting effects of his still place in his mind. He blinked sharply at the tears that pricked at his eyes and drew considered breaths to hide the shudders of sobs that threatened.

"Vash?" She murmured, her breath again touching the back of his neck. However, this time he cringed, ashamed of his own skin.

"Did I hurt you?"

For a moment he did not understand what she had asked. How in the world could she have done that? Wasn't he trying to do his utmost not to hurt her? Where did she get the idea that she might be able to harm him?

"Your scars?" She clarified as the silence dragged on too long.

Vash almost smiled in relief, those wounds were healed now, though their presence would be permanently etched on his body. Even those with raw nerve endings, or strange numb spots were not _hurting_ in the way she seemed to expect.

"No." He said almost cheerily.

She sighed against the back of his neck, and to his bewilderment and consternation slipped her fingers back where they had been.

"Thank God." She whispered in a breathy sigh.

Vash lay still, thinking about Shyla and the warmth of her fingers. All he could sense was Shyla and her soft touch to his chest. However, all he could think about in his rather stunned mind was that it was not the scars that had revolted her. She had touched him, and had withdrawn her hand, then, entirely voluntarily had replaced it. Her fingers were there now, touching his scar as if he were someone worth touching. He felt that calm emptiness vanish. He could not hold it, not with the fresh wave of sudden intense personal awareness. She had not been repulsed. He floated in the feeling of tentative awe and astonishment. He felt very peculiar, as if she had reached through his flesh and lightly stroked his soul. It was an intensely private and bewildering sensation.

It was only as he heard her steady breathing that he realised she was asleep once more. No, she felt nothing towards him in that manner. This was an entirely platonic love. It was only confusing for him; she was protected by innocence and ignorance. Long may it be, he privately prayed over her. Yet, she was not afraid of his scars and sought to comfort him. He cried then, silent tears as forgotten memories of tenderness and love towards himself re-emerged. No wonder he had dreamed of Rem. He had never thought another could ever approach that level of care for one so worthless as himself. He wiped his eyes with the edge of the sheet, feeling refreshed. It was peculiar how tears had that effect for him. There was the choice now, to get up and leave her to sleep, or to go back to sleep himself. He breathed out and closed his eyes. He was confused and heart-weary, and not up to dodging questions if she were to wake and see his mental state now. He let sleep take him, and for the first time in years it came so swiftly he was unaware of its approach.


End file.
